G
Greenrust
Guest
Original poster
- Status
- Invitation Status
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per day
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Writing Levels
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Advanced
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Primarily Prefer Female
- No Preferences
- Genres
- Fantasy, Magical, Romance. The occasional slice-of-life if the plot is interesting.
Name: Ryene Martell
Age: 20
Great House: Martell
Personality: Though Ryene likes to be light hearted and to jest whenever she gets an opportunity, she knows when to be serious - most of the time. She enjoys joking and teasing and flirting (with both sexes), and generally having a good time. It is her view that the people of Westeros take things far too seriously, and so she takes it upon herself to lighten the mood. Though she is a skilled fighter and is reluctant to turn down or back away from a challenge, she does not let her skill with words grow rusty. It has been told to her by those outside of Dorne that it is a downfall of hers that, while she can appear as such, her personality is not more feminine.
Appearance:
Occupation:
Skills (50 Points to be allotted to any skill, as long as they add up to 50.):
- Shortsword:
-Longsword: 7
-Shield: 8
-Coercion: 10
-Lancing: 20
-Diplomacy: 5
Other:
Special Weaponry:
A Dornish spear, custom-fashioned for Ryene herself.
Pets:
A black steed, Shara, given to her years before - a faithful companion to her
Allergies: None
WRITING SAMPLE:
Ryene walked brusquely through the halls of the Martell home. The only sounds were those of her footsteps echoing off the walls; it was still well before dawn, and not even the servants were awake yet. Even so, she kept to the shadows as she went, just in case there was someone else lurking around at this ungodly hour. She knew that she was in no danger of being seen by the guards – she had their rounds and rotations memorized by now - but there was always the odd chance of a servant sneaking back from a night of passion with one of the lords or ladies.
She opened the large, wooden doors as silently as she could and snuck through the courtyard and into the stables, where Shara stood. He snorted, as if in greeting, as she approached.
"There's a good boy," she whispered, stroking his neck. "Shall we sneak out for a little ride before the others find out?" Another snort. She would be reprimanded if she was discovered, she knew – they didn't like her riding so carelessly by herself, especially not when the Seven Kingdoms to the north was in such chaos. But, Shara needed to be ridden, and she needed to feel the freedom of the wind through her hair. So she grabbed her saddle, halter, and reins, and strapped them onto Shara. Her fingers were nimble and quick, doing a task that she had done a thousand times before, but that was somehow still soothing for her. When she was done, she let her steed out of the stables and snuck through the gates. Once she was safely out of sight, she climbed into the saddle, and spurred her horse on, and rode as far and as hard and as long as she could.
Age: 20
Great House: Martell
Personality: Though Ryene likes to be light hearted and to jest whenever she gets an opportunity, she knows when to be serious - most of the time. She enjoys joking and teasing and flirting (with both sexes), and generally having a good time. It is her view that the people of Westeros take things far too seriously, and so she takes it upon herself to lighten the mood. Though she is a skilled fighter and is reluctant to turn down or back away from a challenge, she does not let her skill with words grow rusty. It has been told to her by those outside of Dorne that it is a downfall of hers that, while she can appear as such, her personality is not more feminine.
Appearance:
Occupation:
Skills (50 Points to be allotted to any skill, as long as they add up to 50.):
- Shortsword:
-Longsword: 7
-Shield: 8
-Coercion: 10
-Lancing: 20
-Diplomacy: 5
Other:
Special Weaponry:
A Dornish spear, custom-fashioned for Ryene herself.
Pets:
A black steed, Shara, given to her years before - a faithful companion to her
Allergies: None
WRITING SAMPLE:
Ryene walked brusquely through the halls of the Martell home. The only sounds were those of her footsteps echoing off the walls; it was still well before dawn, and not even the servants were awake yet. Even so, she kept to the shadows as she went, just in case there was someone else lurking around at this ungodly hour. She knew that she was in no danger of being seen by the guards – she had their rounds and rotations memorized by now - but there was always the odd chance of a servant sneaking back from a night of passion with one of the lords or ladies.
She opened the large, wooden doors as silently as she could and snuck through the courtyard and into the stables, where Shara stood. He snorted, as if in greeting, as she approached.
"There's a good boy," she whispered, stroking his neck. "Shall we sneak out for a little ride before the others find out?" Another snort. She would be reprimanded if she was discovered, she knew – they didn't like her riding so carelessly by herself, especially not when the Seven Kingdoms to the north was in such chaos. But, Shara needed to be ridden, and she needed to feel the freedom of the wind through her hair. So she grabbed her saddle, halter, and reins, and strapped them onto Shara. Her fingers were nimble and quick, doing a task that she had done a thousand times before, but that was somehow still soothing for her. When she was done, she let her steed out of the stables and snuck through the gates. Once she was safely out of sight, she climbed into the saddle, and spurred her horse on, and rode as far and as hard and as long as she could.
- Posting Speed
- Speed of Light
- Multiple posts per day
- 1-3 posts per day
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Online Availability
- I never know when I will get online, but I usually get on most days of the week and weekend. I am pretty active on here so you will see me around a lot.
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Transgender
- Primarily Prefer Male
- Genres
- High School/College, Scifi, Modern, Magical, Horror, Romance, Yaoi, Yuri, Slice Of Life, R Rated xD, Modern Fantasy
J
Jerelin
Guest
Original poster
I'm interested if there is still room. Planning on being a bastard from the Westerlands, possibly fathered or mothered by a Lannister. :D
I haven't decided male or female, yet. I am leaning toward female, but if there are too many females, then I don't mind playing male.
EDIT: Making a female. Went through and it's males 5:3. ^_^
I haven't decided male or female, yet. I am leaning toward female, but if there are too many females, then I don't mind playing male.
EDIT: Making a female. Went through and it's males 5:3. ^_^
- Invitation Status
- Posting Speed
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Advanced
- Prestige
- Douche
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Genres
- Fantasy is my #1; I will give almost anything a chance if it has strong fantasy elements. Post apocalyptic, superhero, alternate history, science fantasy, some supernatural, romance, and a few fandoms (especially Game of Thrones) are also likely to catch my eye.
J
Jerelin
Guest
Original poster
A
Arcadia
Guest
Original poster
Glad to have you on board :D Accepted. And to answer your question, the more the merrier when it comes to combat driven female characters :DName: Ryene Martell
Age: 20
Great House: Martell
Personality: Though Ryene likes to be light hearted and to jest whenever she gets an opportunity, she knows when to be serious - most of the time. She enjoys joking and teasing and flirting (with both sexes), and generally having a good time. It is her view that the people of Westeros take things far too seriously, and so she takes it upon herself to lighten the mood. Though she is a skilled fighter and is reluctant to turn down or back away from a challenge, she does not let her skill with words grow rusty. It has been told to her by those outside of Dorne that it is a downfall of hers that, while she can appear as such, her personality is not more feminine.
Appearance:
Occupation:
Skills (50 Points to be allotted to any skill, as long as they add up to 50.):
- Shortsword:
-Longsword: 7
-Shield: 8
-Coercion: 10
-Lancing: 20
-Diplomacy: 5
Other:
Special Weaponry:
A Dornish spear, custom-fashioned for Ryene herself.
Pets:
A black steed, Shara, given to her years before - a faithful companion to her
Allergies: None
WRITING SAMPLE:
Ryene walked brusquely through the halls of the Martell home. The only sounds were those of her footsteps echoing off the walls; it was still well before dawn, and not even the servants were awake yet. Even so, she kept to the shadows as she went, just in case there was someone else lurking around at this ungodly hour. She knew that she was in no danger of being seen by the guards – she had their rounds and rotations memorized by now - but there was always the odd chance of a servant sneaking back from a night of passion with one of the lords or ladies.
She opened the large, wooden doors as silently as she could and snuck through the courtyard and into the stables, where Shara stood. He snorted, as if in greeting, as she approached.
"There's a good boy," she whispered, stroking his neck. "Shall we sneak out for a little ride before the others find out?" Another snort. She would be reprimanded if she was discovered, she knew – they didn't like her riding so carelessly by herself, especially not when the Seven Kingdoms to the north was in such chaos. But, Shara needed to be ridden, and she needed to feel the freedom of the wind through her hair. So she grabbed her saddle, halter, and reins, and strapped them onto Shara. Her fingers were nimble and quick, doing a task that she had done a thousand times before, but that was somehow still soothing for her. When she was done, she let her steed out of the stables and snuck through the gates. Once she was safely out of sight, she climbed into the saddle, and spurred her horse on, and rode as far and as hard and as long as she could.
- Invitation Status
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per day
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Writing Levels
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Advanced
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Primarily Prefer Female
- No Preferences
- Genres
- Fantasy, Magical, Romance. The occasional slice-of-life if the plot is interesting.
L
Lady Myst
Guest
Original poster
I am sorry I did not get my character up last night. My mom is very sick and I take care of her so if she has a bad day then I can't get on. I will try again tonight.
G
Greenrust
Guest
Original poster
H
Hell Hound Woof
Guest
Original poster
J
Jerelin
Guest
Original poster
Image Created by Mictones
Name:
Annalys Hill
Age:
24
Great House:
Lannister
Personality:
Annalys comes off as a very sweet and innocent young girl whose head is filled to the brim with clouds and nonsense. She giggles and blushes like a maiden on her wedding night and is not known to have many intelligent conversations. This facade allows her to enter the beds and hearts of the noble men and lords to learn their plans and schemes. When in the company of trusted companions, Annalys is a rather striking and compelling figure with more than just clouds and nonsense up in the attic.
Occupation:
Paid Companion at a Brothel within Lannisport
Skills
* Indicates Freebie
Running: 20*
Writing: 5*
Bartering: 10*
Slings: 5*
Wilderness Survival: 10*
Climbing: 5*
Stealth: 20
Scouting: 15
Concealment: 10
Disguise: 5
Diplomacy: 15
Impersonation: 7
Daggers: 5
Dance: 13
Seduction: 35
Other:
Annalys is the half-sister of Loren and Alice Lannister. She is the bastard daughter of Lord Lannister.
Special Weaponry:
Other than her looks and 'naivety', she keeps a small dagger on or near her person at all times. She has never had to use it and she hopes that she never will.
Pets:
Lannisport has a large amount of stray cats that run through the area. Many of them find refuge near the back enterance on the brothel where Annalys and other companions will take care of them.
Allergies:
Oranges, Tangerines, and Lemons
WRITING SAMPLE:
The weather was exceptionally warm. Perhaps it was the damp, coolness of her chambers that led the sunlight to feel much warmer than it was, but she enjoyed it. The days had been changing for some time now, growing slightly cooler with each passing moon. A brief moment of warmth was one to cherish since winter would be upon them soon. When, Annalys and no other person exactly knew, but the Starks were always right at some point. "Winter is coming," she spoke under her breath with a small roll of her eyes.
She turned away from the window, almost shivering as her bare body once again returned to the cool atmosphere of the room. The gentleman who had just left her company had been a rather loud man, filling the room with words and grunts. Annalys had been extremely pleased when he paid his dues and exited the chamber. For one, she could breath without any obstructions and for two, the man had been free with his speech. Lords often forgot that working women were more than just pawns and wives, speaking more openly than they should. A small smile etched its way across the girl's lips.
Quickly, Annalys crossed the room and opened the wardrobe, fingering the fabric of a blue dress that would soon adorn her figure. It draped over the girl's form with a slight grace that almost made her forget her birth. Surely commoners wouldn't wear anything like that dress, but there she was. She smoothed the fabric over her hips, ensuring that it hadn't bunched up as some dresses do before she brushed her hair and set off to inform her dear friend. This information couldn't remain idle.
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G
Greenrust
Guest
Original poster
Name: Raynor Martell
Age: 26
Great House: Martell
Personality: Willful and proud Raynor Martell is much one would want in a son. Handsome, clever, and a good fighter but he resents any authority over him whether it would be the king or his own family. He has no trouble stepping on both noble and small folk alike if they piss him off or annoy him though hes a decent actor and can use his courtesy's if it serves him and the other person isn't too annoying. Above all he respects personal cunning and strength of arms, rather then position or blood relations.
Appearance:
Occupation: Prince of Dorne
Combat Skills
-Shortsword:
-Longsword:
-Sword & Shield:
-Archery:
-Lancing:
-Warhammer:
-Maces:
-Whip:
-Daggers:
-Spear/Polearms: 50
-Axes
-Thrown Weapons:
-Slings:
-Exotic Weaponry:
-Blind Fighting:
-Martial Combat: 10
-Dual Wielding:
Physical:
Acrobatics:
Climbing:
Horse Riding: 15
Running: 20
Survival Skills
-Tactics: 25
-Stealth:
-Scouting:
-Tracking:
-Husbandry:
-Cooking:
-Gathering:
-Animal Handling:
-Reading: 15
-Wilderness Survival:
-Concealment:
-Disguise:
-Hunting:
-Medical:
People Skills
-Diplomacy:
-Coercion:
-Seduction:
-Bartering:
-Interrorgation:
-Impersonation:
-Leadership: 25
Craftsmanship & Work
-Alchemy:
-Blacksmithing:
-Tailoring:
-Mining:
-Accounting:
-Wood Cutting:
Art
-Music:
-Dance: 5
-Contortionism:
-Writing: 10
-Drawing:
Other: Believes a man should do as he likes and therefore has an appetite for both good food and beautiful woman.
Special Weaponry: His special spear, that has a shaft of the strongest ironwood along with steel pathways twining up it in a circle in several places making it heavier but able to block even a broad sword strike with the shaft
Pets: Several vipers and other venomous animals he brings place to place to experiments with poisons
Allergies: None
Raynor looked disquietly over the field where his 3 opponents stood as he twirled his staff absent mindingly in his hands. Him and his guardsmen had been sparring for the better part of an hour and they were getting used to his pattern. He had asked his guardsmen to duel him 3 on one to get him prepared for battles where single combat was rare and while if the battles had gone like the previous matches, most of them anyway, they would be dead but in a training session like this they had grown used to his pattern and were getting harder to beat every time. He would need to change his strategy if he wanted to stand a chance in this next bout.
"Lets start." He said suddenly startling them from their rest as the picked up their weapons moving to one side of the courtyard, crouching behind their shields weary. All of them used sword and shields which made defending against them difficult though he already proved that a careless arm or leg could mean a heavy blow and a bruise in the morning. "Begin." he said and his guards nodded and started to slide around him moving to pincer him from all sides. Knowing that he would have no chance if he allowed them to do so and without warning sprung into motion. He didn't go for one of the sides of the slowly separating guards as expected but instead aimed for the center. He went for a long lunge with one arm to allow him maximum distance as to not get pincered by the other two but such an long blow wouldn't have a great chance of hitting surprise or not and he was soon proven correct as the guard deflected the spear up with his shield and brought him sword down in a diagonal cut. Raynor took a step back and brought his spear with him pulling back sharply with one arm blocking with the hilt of his spear. Seeing the other two starting to pincer him he spun on his and brought his staff around in an brutal arc into his sword arm, his raised blade making it impossible to bring his shield around to block. The man fell away swearing as he dropped his sword as Raynor turned in a savage stabbing motion at the man coming from the other side driving him back with pure ferocity. The man in the middle had already stepped forward and shield bashed him backwards to close for a stab. Raynor fell back feeling like his nose was broken and ended up on hands and knees as he swung out with his staff aiming for his legs. There was a crack as the block connected and he fell his stab falling awry as Raynor rolled to his feet. He got up to see the man from the left coming at him again, shield up with a determined look in his eyes. Raynor kicked out and he the bottom of his shield and drove it into his jaw. He fell backwards with barely a cry from his forced shut mouth and he leapt turning in the air towards the man on his ground trying to bring up his shield. With the new angle created by his jump he drove the staff into his back and knocking him forward as he cursed in pain. He pointed the staff at the last guy who managed to regain his sword but he drooped the blade and yielded knowing one on one he was no match for the young Martell prince. Raynor looked around, one man down for the count and wasent moving likely knocked out, the other curing have trouble getting up because of his back and looked at the last guy. "Lets take a break." He suggested, a suggestion the man eagerly accepted with a nod.
Age: 26
Great House: Martell
Personality: Willful and proud Raynor Martell is much one would want in a son. Handsome, clever, and a good fighter but he resents any authority over him whether it would be the king or his own family. He has no trouble stepping on both noble and small folk alike if they piss him off or annoy him though hes a decent actor and can use his courtesy's if it serves him and the other person isn't too annoying. Above all he respects personal cunning and strength of arms, rather then position or blood relations.
Appearance:
Occupation: Prince of Dorne
Combat Skills
-Shortsword:
-Longsword:
-Sword & Shield:
-Archery:
-Lancing:
-Warhammer:
-Maces:
-Whip:
-Daggers:
-Spear/Polearms: 50
-Axes
-Thrown Weapons:
-Slings:
-Exotic Weaponry:
-Blind Fighting:
-Martial Combat: 10
-Dual Wielding:
Physical:
Acrobatics:
Climbing:
Horse Riding: 15
Running: 20
Survival Skills
-Tactics: 25
-Stealth:
-Scouting:
-Tracking:
-Husbandry:
-Cooking:
-Gathering:
-Animal Handling:
-Reading: 15
-Wilderness Survival:
-Concealment:
-Disguise:
-Hunting:
-Medical:
People Skills
-Diplomacy:
-Coercion:
-Seduction:
-Bartering:
-Interrorgation:
-Impersonation:
-Leadership: 25
Craftsmanship & Work
-Alchemy:
-Blacksmithing:
-Tailoring:
-Mining:
-Accounting:
-Wood Cutting:
Art
-Music:
-Dance: 5
-Contortionism:
-Writing: 10
-Drawing:
Other: Believes a man should do as he likes and therefore has an appetite for both good food and beautiful woman.
Special Weaponry: His special spear, that has a shaft of the strongest ironwood along with steel pathways twining up it in a circle in several places making it heavier but able to block even a broad sword strike with the shaft
Pets: Several vipers and other venomous animals he brings place to place to experiments with poisons
Allergies: None
Raynor looked disquietly over the field where his 3 opponents stood as he twirled his staff absent mindingly in his hands. Him and his guardsmen had been sparring for the better part of an hour and they were getting used to his pattern. He had asked his guardsmen to duel him 3 on one to get him prepared for battles where single combat was rare and while if the battles had gone like the previous matches, most of them anyway, they would be dead but in a training session like this they had grown used to his pattern and were getting harder to beat every time. He would need to change his strategy if he wanted to stand a chance in this next bout.
"Lets start." He said suddenly startling them from their rest as the picked up their weapons moving to one side of the courtyard, crouching behind their shields weary. All of them used sword and shields which made defending against them difficult though he already proved that a careless arm or leg could mean a heavy blow and a bruise in the morning. "Begin." he said and his guards nodded and started to slide around him moving to pincer him from all sides. Knowing that he would have no chance if he allowed them to do so and without warning sprung into motion. He didn't go for one of the sides of the slowly separating guards as expected but instead aimed for the center. He went for a long lunge with one arm to allow him maximum distance as to not get pincered by the other two but such an long blow wouldn't have a great chance of hitting surprise or not and he was soon proven correct as the guard deflected the spear up with his shield and brought him sword down in a diagonal cut. Raynor took a step back and brought his spear with him pulling back sharply with one arm blocking with the hilt of his spear. Seeing the other two starting to pincer him he spun on his and brought his staff around in an brutal arc into his sword arm, his raised blade making it impossible to bring his shield around to block. The man fell away swearing as he dropped his sword as Raynor turned in a savage stabbing motion at the man coming from the other side driving him back with pure ferocity. The man in the middle had already stepped forward and shield bashed him backwards to close for a stab. Raynor fell back feeling like his nose was broken and ended up on hands and knees as he swung out with his staff aiming for his legs. There was a crack as the block connected and he fell his stab falling awry as Raynor rolled to his feet. He got up to see the man from the left coming at him again, shield up with a determined look in his eyes. Raynor kicked out and he the bottom of his shield and drove it into his jaw. He fell backwards with barely a cry from his forced shut mouth and he leapt turning in the air towards the man on his ground trying to bring up his shield. With the new angle created by his jump he drove the staff into his back and knocking him forward as he cursed in pain. He pointed the staff at the last guy who managed to regain his sword but he drooped the blade and yielded knowing one on one he was no match for the young Martell prince. Raynor looked around, one man down for the count and wasent moving likely knocked out, the other curing have trouble getting up because of his back and looked at the last guy. "Lets take a break." He suggested, a suggestion the man eagerly accepted with a nod.
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H
Hell Hound Woof
Guest
Original poster
So any Starks want this crazy bastard as a son or brother? Best longsword artist in the game.
Name: Bjarke Stark
Age: 23
Great House: Stark, (Negotiable who's son or brother he is.)
Personality: He holds his family above anything else. Not their name nor their reputation, but their lives and happiness. He is often regarded as the protector of his kin and will give his life in a heartbeat for them. He can be caring to his family but equally as cruel to his enemies.
Appearance:
Occupation: Warrior
Skills (50 Points to be allotted to any skill, as long as they add up to 50.):
- Shortsword: 5
-Longsword: 20
-Coercion: 5
-Archery: 5
-Tracking: 5
-Seduction: 10
Other: He is an incredibly capable warrior with a
Special Weaponry: Spiked shoulder plate, he has often used it to ram into his enemies and spear them through the chest.
Pets:
Allergies: None
WRITING SAMPLE: (YOU MUST WRITE ONE OF THESE IN ORDER TO BE ACCEPTED)
Bjarke strode through the demolished encampment, his longsword at his side. He watched as one of the raiders soldiers rushed forward with his sword above his head. The fool came in to fast and tried to slash downwards towards Bjarke, it was a simple enough move to sidestep. When the mans blade came to the ground Bjarke had already stepped left and threw his left leg out to the side while bending his right knee. He was at a lowered position and angled his longsword so that it would skewer the man from the stomach up. Bjarke smiled and brought his left leg in and his right knee extended, the blade slowly sunk into the mans stomach and came out near his shoulder blade. It made a sickening sliding sound as blood flowed from the wound trickling down the blade and onto Bjarkes exposed fingers.
"Death comes for us all," Bjarke whispered in the mans ear as he used his shoulder to push the man backwards and off of his blade. He continued on through the encampment, the tents lit aflame, soldiers rushing agaisnt one another. The clash of steel and iron and the roar of men crying for the blood of their enemies raged on but Bjarke kept composure, this battle was of no consequence to him. He fought for his family's banner-men, these raiders plagued one of the under houses. In front of him he saw three warriors, two in heavy armor. He smiled and ran forth with his great sword at his side, a loud war cry erupting from his inner most emotion. His feet crunched against dry soil as he neared his opponents, one of the men in armor drew their sword and attempted to rush toward Bjarke. The two closed the gap before the armored man had time to reach full sprint and Bjarke simply tucked his pauldron equipped shoulder and rammed into the mans chest. He heard the puncturing of plate and smiled as the knight began to tip over.
"You fuck ugly cunt I'll kill you!" The non armored one shouted as he brought his sword down toward Bjarke, the blade cut across Bjarke's eye left eye and he screamed in pain. Before the man could come down in a stabbing motion Bjarke had drawn his dagger and forced himself free of the armored man. He moved under the unarmored raiders guard and proceeded to stab him in the stomach until the remaining armored man joined the fight. The man rushed forward the clanging of his armor loud, he swung at Bjarke back and made a small cut in the thick leather. Bjarke felt the blade drag across it and pushed the unarmored corpse away from himself and rolled away from an incoming swing. His face bled and he was slightly off balance from loosing a fairly important part of his anatomy but he kept his dagger up and his feet planted. The armored man ran forward with his sword hilt at his side and its point ready to spear Bjarke through. Bjarke had few options and so he did something foolish, he ran at the armored man. The two came within a few feet of one another before Bjarke threw the dagger forward, it clanged against the metal helmet but it served its purpose as a momentary distraction. Bjarke dropped to the ground and rolled against the knights shins, the man fell over. His armor made it hard for him to recover quickly and Bjarke simply stood and grabbed his longsword from near the first armored man. He moved over to the remaining opponent and pulled the mans helmet off. Bjarke used his foot to roll the man over and smirked at him as he tried to swing his sword. Bjarke simple swung his sword and cut the mans wielding hand off. His screams were loud and full of anguish, but it did not deter Bjarke. He looked down at the man and put his greatsword in front of the mans mouth. He watched as the mans eyes registered what was about to happen, but it was too late for him to stop screaming now. Bjarke pushed his sword forward and the mans screaming was muffled by a blade piercing the inside of his mouth and cutting the spine behind it. Blood spurted out as the man made a few final spasms and finally stopped. The battle raged on and Bjarke ran off and joined into the larger fray of things, he swung his sword wildly as he delved into the enemy ranks. He cut down commanders and footsoldiers alike, he took his fair share of injuries but his pride forced him to continue on. He saw the raiders banner and cut through the masses to reach it. He and his warriors waded through bodies and reached the enemy banner, he reached up and tore it down.
"For House Stark!" He shouted as he threw the tarnished banner to the bloody dirt and began cutting down what little opposition remained. As his men ran off to capture the fleeing troops he sat atop several bodies that seemed fit for a throne, he looked around at the scorched earth, the burning tents, the smell of rot. He knew his home lay far away, in Winterfell, but here he felt like a king. He stabbed his greatsword into the earth and rested his hands on its wide cross guard, and put his head against the bloody flat of the blade. He thought of the Godswood tree near his home and began to pray to the old gods. Praying for the safety of his family, and the death of his enemies.
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V
VengefulPeanut
Guest
Original poster
Name:
Cenric Tully
Age:
20
Great House:
Tully
Personality:
Filled with idealism of his House's words, Cenric is a man very focused on his family and his honour. While trying to play down his importance and heritage, he often finds himself become overly serious and overbearing to some. However, what he lacks in an adaptive sense of humour he makes up for in loyalty and dependability.
Appearance:
Occupation:
Heir to House Tully.
Skills :
- Shortsword: 10
-Longsword: 45
-Shield: 15
-Coercion:
-Alchemy:
-Archery: 15
-Scouting:
-Tracking:
-Lancing:
-Warhammer:
-Diplomacy: 25
-Husbandry:
-Music:
-Dance: 10
-Seduction:
High Born Freebies
Other:
Special Weaponry:
N/A
Pets:
N/A
Allergies:
N/A
WRITING SAMPLE:
Entering the room, Cenric noted the absence of the rest of his family. A frustrated sigh escaped his lips as he spat a silent curse towards the ground. It was almost typical that he would get left with the duty of answering the pleas of the people alone - especially on the day he had planned to spend training. Taking his position at the head of the hall, he clasped onto the arms of the chair tightly before lowering himself into it. "Where has everyone else fled to?" he whispered to the captain of the guard, leaning over slightly to get in audio range of the man. A nonchalant shrug and denial of knowledge was the response. Of course it was. He knew the Captain was in his father's pocket and his father had probably gave him the 'deny-all-knowledge' order personally. Cenric sighed resignedly before pressing his back deep into the chair, flicking his hand to the side to signal the guards to open the doors. The usual routine ensued, the people would petition him and his family for aid in matters often simple. Quite a boring facade really but one that the family needed to complete to best serve and keep the loyalty of the people. Most of the troubles were trivial and easily sorted. A lost goat here, a raid on a farm silo there - most, but not all. The man in question clasped his hat nervously as he stepped forward, his shaky disposition made further intriguing by his wandering eyes. "Do not worry, my good man. No harm or misfortune will come to you in this court," Cenric said warmly, hoping to comfort the man. It even seemed to work, slightly, though the man's words were still plagued by a stutter.
"My L-Lord... I come on behalf of my people, sir... my village... it is being plagued..." It was a vague explanation to say the least. Cenric leaned forward in his seat, curious.
"Plagued by what exactly?" he asked.
"Raiders, my Lord."
"Raiders not fended off by your militia?" Cenric was curious. It was uncommon to hear of brigands being so bold, especially in their House's lands. With all the problems occurring in the Capital, however...
"They are our militia, m'Lord."
Cenric Tully
Age:
20
Great House:
Tully
Personality:
Filled with idealism of his House's words, Cenric is a man very focused on his family and his honour. While trying to play down his importance and heritage, he often finds himself become overly serious and overbearing to some. However, what he lacks in an adaptive sense of humour he makes up for in loyalty and dependability.
Appearance:
Occupation:
Heir to House Tully.
Skills :
- Shortsword: 10
-Longsword: 45
-Shield: 15
-Coercion:
-Alchemy:
-Archery: 15
-Scouting:
-Tracking:
-Lancing:
-Warhammer:
-Diplomacy: 25
-Husbandry:
-Music:
-Dance: 10
-Seduction:
High Born Freebies
Other:
Special Weaponry:
N/A
Pets:
N/A
Allergies:
N/A
WRITING SAMPLE:
Entering the room, Cenric noted the absence of the rest of his family. A frustrated sigh escaped his lips as he spat a silent curse towards the ground. It was almost typical that he would get left with the duty of answering the pleas of the people alone - especially on the day he had planned to spend training. Taking his position at the head of the hall, he clasped onto the arms of the chair tightly before lowering himself into it. "Where has everyone else fled to?" he whispered to the captain of the guard, leaning over slightly to get in audio range of the man. A nonchalant shrug and denial of knowledge was the response. Of course it was. He knew the Captain was in his father's pocket and his father had probably gave him the 'deny-all-knowledge' order personally. Cenric sighed resignedly before pressing his back deep into the chair, flicking his hand to the side to signal the guards to open the doors. The usual routine ensued, the people would petition him and his family for aid in matters often simple. Quite a boring facade really but one that the family needed to complete to best serve and keep the loyalty of the people. Most of the troubles were trivial and easily sorted. A lost goat here, a raid on a farm silo there - most, but not all. The man in question clasped his hat nervously as he stepped forward, his shaky disposition made further intriguing by his wandering eyes. "Do not worry, my good man. No harm or misfortune will come to you in this court," Cenric said warmly, hoping to comfort the man. It even seemed to work, slightly, though the man's words were still plagued by a stutter.
"My L-Lord... I come on behalf of my people, sir... my village... it is being plagued..." It was a vague explanation to say the least. Cenric leaned forward in his seat, curious.
"Plagued by what exactly?" he asked.
"Raiders, my Lord."
"Raiders not fended off by your militia?" Cenric was curious. It was uncommon to hear of brigands being so bold, especially in their House's lands. With all the problems occurring in the Capital, however...
"They are our militia, m'Lord."
Last edited by a moderator:
L
Lady Myst
Guest
Original poster
I am so sorry guys but I will not be able to join this rp after all. There is so much going on irl right now that I feel like I will not be able to give this rp my best and that would not be fair to everyone here.
Again I am really sorry and I wish you all the best of luck.
Again I am really sorry and I wish you all the best of luck.
- Posting Speed
- Speed of Light
- Multiple posts per day
- 1-3 posts per day
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Online Availability
- I never know when I will get online, but I usually get on most days of the week and weekend. I am pretty active on here so you will see me around a lot.
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Transgender
- Primarily Prefer Male
- Genres
- High School/College, Scifi, Modern, Magical, Horror, Romance, Yaoi, Yuri, Slice Of Life, R Rated xD, Modern Fantasy
- Invitation Status
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per day
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- Online Availability
- This changes too frequently to give anything reliable.
- Writing Levels
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Genres
- Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Adventure.
My Character might work at being his father.
The only way siblings would work is if you found a re-marriage situation that allowed for a 20 year gap in siblings.
H
Hell Hound Woof
Guest
Original poster
- Invitation Status
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per day
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- Online Availability
- This changes too frequently to give anything reliable.
- Writing Levels
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Genres
- Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Adventure.
- Status